The Art of Mortification
by suckerforasmile
Summary: In which guilty pleasures are discovered. Slash, NickxGreg, oneshot.


_It's been awhile, no? I wrote this for fun and it's definitely a little… crack-like. Oh, God, forgive me. x3 It's very simple and pointless and, yknow. Just for fun._

_

* * *

_"I think we should break up."

"Oh, come on."

"On second thought, I'm just going to put this back and pretend this is a dream."

"Really? You really think it's _this_ bad?"

"Nick, I'm really trying to be nice, here. Really. But did your thousands of siblings ever find the time between beating you up and dressing you in girls clothing for tea parties to teach you about good music?"

Still not amused, Nick scratches at the side of his face and sighs. "As a matter of fact they did, but I have a feeling that you're going to school me again."

"Of course. I expect you to take notes." Greg watches him for a moment. "You're not getting paper."

"I'll manage."

Greg pauses before he reaches under Nick's coffee table for a CD binder. "Normally I'd save the humiliation, but I think in this case you'll just have to let me." With a heavy, exaggerated sigh, Greg unzips the case and opens it to the first page. "Sorted by artist then album title. I didn't expect any less." Nick sighs heavily. "So does your man crush come under K or U?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Keith Urban."

"Neither. He's still in the original CD jewel case."

Greg lets the case fall back into his lap with a soft 'plunk.' "I fear for your mortal soul." Nick scoffs and shakes his head. "Okay, first off, Brad Paisley? Give me one good reason why a guy who'd choose fishing over his wife deserves to get millions of dollars in CD sales." Before Nick can answer, Greg continues. "Ugh, Johnny Cash, I'll grant you that… This isn't your entire collection."

But Nick nods. "It is. Guaranteed."

"I heard you singing along to the Dixie Chicks in the shower, you don't get that good at a falsetto without practice." Nick blushes a deep crimson as Greg sticks his hand out, palm to the ceiling, for the CDs. "Fork 'em over."

"In the bottom right cabinet," Nick replies softly, obviously embarrassed. "You heard that? I thought you were asleep."

"No, much more fun to listen to you sing."

"Oh, shut up."

"Really," Greg replies as he turns around to get the hidden case. "You have an impressive voice. And I'd let you sing about your pregnant ex wife with daddy problems any day." Greg grabs the edge of the case and pulls. Nearly a dozen jewel cased CDs fall out with it – and they're all marked either Hannah Montana or High School Musical. Greg blinks a few times, as though trying to make them go away. "Nick, are you hiding a twelve year old daughter from me?"

"Nieces, Greg."

"And how many of them have no mind?"

"You're talking about my family here. If my siblings couldn't teach me to have good taste, how can they teach their children to have good taste?"

"I would have loved to have been there to see the clerk's face when you bought these."

"Don't worry, I told her they were all for my boyfriend. I'm sure they're still talking about it."

"Great. I appreciate i– Tim McGraw? Toby Keith? Kenny Chesney? Brooks and D—Nick, there's only so many twangin' hillbillies that don't sound alike and I don't think you have any of them in your collection."

"All right, so let's look at yours," Nick says as he reaches for Greg's CD case, innocently sitting on the coffee table.

"Don't!"

"Why?" Nick asks, not fazed at all by Greg's outburst. "Afraid somebody'll find the ABBA, Greg?"

Greg holds up a CD from Nick's case and Nick's face reddens again when he reads _ABBA_ across the top.

"KISS."

"Bon Jovi."

"Marilyn Manson."

"Taylor _Swift?_"

"Metallica. A _lot_ of Metallica."

"Bon Jovi."

"We've gone over that."

"I know. I just think he deserves to be mentioned twice."

Nick drops Greg's CD's back on the couch and rubs at his eyes. "I should just suck it up, right? Give it up?"

Greg almost starts to nod, but when Nick pulls his hands away from his face, he notices a bit of a twinkle and closes Nick's case as well. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"I think," Nick starts, standing from the couch and heading towards the bookshelf, "That you have a _lot_ more embarrassing guilty pleasures than I do."

"What are you doing?" Greg asks. Nick starts feeling along the shelf behind Greg's books, humming something under his breath. "Hey, come on – I take it back, let's go fool around in your bedroom—"

But Nick's already got a hold of what he's looking for, and flings the home-grown CD towards Greg, who's blushing red as a tomato when Nick turns around to him. "Explain that one to me, _baby_."

"You're the devil," Greg groans, falling onto his side and covering his head with his arms. Nick chuckles, amused. "You laugh at other's pain and you never let it go."

"Oh, don't be _outrageous,_" Nick says, kneeling down to the floor and cocking his head, smile still playing on his lips. "_I've just begun_,"

Finally, Greg pulls his head out from under his arms, eyes wide as he looks up at Nick. "Just how long is this going to last?"

"I don't know," Nick says, pulling Greg up to his feet, "Maybe I'll stop it _when your eyes say it._"

Greg's smiling now, but shaking his head. "Oh, that's just cheesy. Really, and I was starting to think that you were actually okay at doing this to me."

With a shrug, Nick says, "_Can't make you love me,_" and winks. "Hey," he continues, sliding up close to Greg and wrapping his arms around him. "You wanna _get naked_?"

"With the way you're acting," Greg replies, hardly able to keep from laughing, "I don't think you'll be getting _lucky_ for a while."

Nick steals a kiss, short and sweet, and pulls away, "I'm serious, you know,"

"So am I," Greg says with a wink of his own, removing himself from Nick's embrace and wandering towards the kitchen. "You don't just start making fun of Greg Sanders' music in his own home and get away from it."

He leaves Nick standing in the middle of the living room, arms at his side, staring after him.


End file.
